Lunar Eclipse
by Ice Princess Alice
Summary: Dusk is an illusion; a flaw. The Dawn, in all it's glory, signifies hope, another chance while enhancing a breath of sunshine with its heavenly presence. The day and night are linked in a way that few things are; there cannot be one without the other, yet they cannot exist at the same time. Waiting, wishing, hoping...longing for an eclipse that would lapse them together as one...
1. Chapter 1

_(Prologue)_

**Night and Day**

* * *

_Dusk is an illusion; a flaw. The Dawn, in all it's glory, signifies hope, another chance while enhancing a breath of sunshine with its heavenly presence. The day and night are linked in a way that few things are; there cannot be one without the other, yet they cannot exist at the same time. Waiting, wishing, hoping . . . longing for an eclipse that would lapse them together as one. For they were the forbidden pair, unable to touch until the glorious eclipse sheathes them in an embrace. How would it feel, wondering to be always together, yet forever apart?_

* * *

Layla dreamed of screaming souls, bloodstained warriors, and a crimson sky that harbored a lunar eclipse which seemed to be frozen in place, the darker orb cascading over the brighter star's golden torso.

She was running aimlessly through an endless abyss of freshly destroyed streets and decaying grass, shards of scattered debris crunching underneath the force of her feet. Paralyzed, dizzy, and intoxicated by the nasal, polluted air, Layla's inner instincts forced her legs forward into a dash that would surely deprive one of air quickly. Though she knew fairly well she was dreaming, having encountered the same visions time and time again, Layla couldn't help the rush of adrenaline and air that sent her body flying towards an unknown direction at full speed, her beating erratically like the constant beats of a hummingbird's propellers.

Layla couldn't help but feel excited and strangely content, though, as if the feeling of her heart—by this point, a poor, rattled organ—hammering against her chest, breaking down all her walls and sending the feel of being truly free, wild, and recklessly impulsive for once. The taste of something sweet and deliciously scarlet lingered at the edges of her lips, reminding her of the bittersweet aftertastes of Novocain and crystallized honey. She never did understand her need for danger and thrill. Normal humans tended to shy away from any sort of activity that would intentionally harm or possibly kill them—of course, unless they were psychopaths. But Layla wasn't that crude. After all, she wasn't suicidal—she still has a sense of self-preservation entangled somewhere in her soul.

And then, she saw _her_.

Bloodied, crumpled, and close to an end, her features hiding underneath a thin veil of death that spiraled around her entire being like mist. Her pale characteristics were twisted in pain, though her stale lips were turned up in a smile that suddenly brightened her ordinary features to an incompatible beauty that left Layla breathless. In fact, everything about her was completely ordinary—normal. Nothing special. Smooth skin, a slightly pointed nose, a few freckles dotted against her delicate flesh, and a nice, heart-shaped face that radiated kindness. But seeing her smile a genuine, pure while writhing in absolute agony was the most stunning thing Layla had ever witnessed.

At that point, Layla wasn't paying attention. She didn't recognize what was happening to her, for if she did, she would witness lives being killed, souls being stolen, fire rampaging through the entire earth, eating away at nearly every living thing. She would have seen that the world was slowly dying, trapping her along with it. But she didn't. Because the lifeless body in front of her was enough to die for.

The woman opened her eyes, her penetrating gaze piercing straight through Layla's soul like a bullet. For a second, Layla was mesmerized, entranced as she stared into a pair of blue-green eyes that held a sea of enchantment and wisdom—something motherly, warm . . . and magnificent. Completely surreal.

Without any hesitation, Layla reached out her fingers, trying to grasp the woman's being . . . feel the pure love and energy that radiated through her spirit.

The woman did the same, her pale, bloodied fingers, wet with her own red liquid outstretching towards Layla as her body was embraced by the dying earth.

At that very moment their skins touched, everything seemed to vanish. Reality crumbled, shattered, and was wiped away.

The female laughed vibrantly.

_"My Lilith . . . my sweet, sweet Lilith,"_ she whispered in a siren-like song, _"Darling . . . I love you so much . . . what I would do to touch you just once . . ."_ her fingers clenched Layla's, sending white light throughout her entire body. Layla, for once, felt adored and loved, filled with awe as the blonde female's life essence kissed every dark part of her soul.

Layla swallowed. "Who are . . . you?" she sounded dazed, even to her own ears, not minding that she had called her '_Lilith_'. And then, all of a sudden, the loving soul crumpled away, vanishing from her fingertips and sinking into the earth where her spirit faded away into nothingness. Layla screamed, desperately crying and reaching out to feel the familiar warmth which was now replaced with a growing iciness, but came out with nothing.

She collapsed into broken sobs.

_"I will shatter your very essence,"_ a harlequin voice murmured, full of no emotion._ "I will break you . . . make you bleed. You will cry, girl . . . cry for friends, for warmth, for that wrench that will never again come on this earth. Not even _she_ will not be able to help you then."_

Layla did not reply.

_"And . . . you will never experience . . . _love_."_

Layla's eyes snapped open.

* * *

The sun hung low on the horizon of Manhattan, highlighting the sky vibrant shades of permanent rose, butterscotch gold and a hint of indigo and violet. Yet, hardly anybody seemed to see this; the sky in New York for the most part seemed to always be obscured by thick smoke and darkened clouds. The only real beauty was highly artificial and only seen at night; the colorful, rainbow-colored explosion of lights that seemed to stretch on forever was admittedly a wondrous sight, but it was nothing compared to nature's true beauty.

Well, that was what one girl thought.

A string of different cars and cabs were lined up in the blustering streets, yelling at each other from time to time and honking their horns. One taxi in particular made a rough turn, breaking into a screeching halt beside the road. Gasoline and odor polluted the air, and faint rays of sunlight bounced off the glossy yellow paint job.

"That's the last straw, kid!" a man's tenor voice snarled. "Get the hell outta here!"

"What?" a shocked voice cried out in disbelief. "But I just payed you freakin' twenty seven bucks! You can't just kick me out!"

"Ain't that a pity." there was no remorse in the middle-aged driver's deep, cracked voice. "'Ya should'a thought of that 'fore 'ya got me blowin' a fuse! Now OUT!" long, black-sleeved arms thrust out of the rolled down window in emphasis, anger rolling out of the vehicle in large waves.

"Screw you. I want my money back." the girl spat venomously, snatching her money from the driver's pudgy hands before swiftly sliding out of the car. The man barked curses angrily as his cab's door was slammed shut with an unnecessary amount of violence that resulted in a large "bang". But, as soon as the female had gotten out, the tires squealed, the wheels turned, and the yellow taxi soon joined a line of cars that were all impatiently hoarding the streets, hardly giving the young girl enough time to step out into the sidewalk.

Cursing briefly under her breath, Layla caught herself from falling head-first into a man dressed in a firmly-pressed tux, earning a nasty glare from him as her shoulder bumped his. In response, Layla muttered a quick apology and stormed away, her flat black boots beating roughly against the concrete sidewalk. She frowned, trying to drown out the voice that echoed inside her head.

_Kids these days . . . just look at how they're dressed! I blame the parents for this! What a disgrace!_ She gritted her teeth sullenly, squeezing her eyes shut. In reality, she supposed her sense of fashion was a bit eccentric. Currently, she wore stylized ripped skinny jeans, a navy blue vest with the fur-trimmed hood placed on her head, an off-the-shoulders shirt with artfully designed sleeves that clung to her thin arms like a second skin, and knee-length boots with the undone laces dragging behind her as she walked. Truly not the most appropriate outfit, but hey; at least she wasn't one of those teenage sluts that barely wore any clothing.

The words she was so accustomed to hearing pounded harshly in her mind, and she subconsciously pushed her hands against her ears. _Kids these days . . . just look at how they're dressed! I blame the parents for this! What a disgrace!_ Sometimes, she couldn't help the things she heard. Sometimes, it hurt like hell just to feel someone, especially if they were suffering through intense physical or emotional pain. It was as if Layla was actually in that person's soul.

On a brighter note, it did come in handy sometimes, especially when she was having a difficult time with a test. But most of the time, it was by accident when she accidentally made skin contact with someone. It was unstoppable, uncontrollable. Hell, Layla even took counselling for that. But every therapist was always skeptical about her "ability" and "vision"; which, per say, were her dreams, constantly the same every time. They deemed her mind as unstable; a childlike personification of an underdeveloped mind that refused to move past the "fantasies come true" stage.

Layla soon learned to avoid any conversations with her parents that included mental health. She realized that there was something terribly wrong with her, something that she couldn't fix. Perhaps she _was_ mentally demented. And her mind-reading ability wasn't something to be proud of these days.

Layla continued walking, lost in a train of thoughts. Her feet instinctively carried her wherever they wanted to, subconsciously avoiding bumping into any other individuals in fear of another mental "attack". She didn't even realize where she was heading to.

If she did, she would have noticed that the number of people were slowly decreasing. She would have realized that she was drifting farther and farther away from the good people of New York. She would have noticed that the air was foggier, the streets dirtier. She would have seen the crumbled, aging buildings that now surrounded her from all sides, ad she would have heard the screams of people and the heavy metal music that blasted from one of the broken-down houses.

She would have noticed just how predatory her world had gotten.

* * *

He sat in the far corner of the bar observing; trying his hardest to resist the urge gripping every nerve in his body. He could only think of ripping those humans apart and dying the place red in their blood. All their eyes were on him. They looked at him then looked away minding their own business. Some wondered how a young boy like him had managed his way in and some had different thoughts; mostly about him though. The fun part was he knew what they were thinking. He was aware he captured people's attention easily. All he had to do was walk in and all eyes would be on him. He had that powerful a presence.

He noticed a certain green eyed girl looking at him. She licked her lips in an almost seductive way as she walked towards him. The past few days he had come to the bar she was the first one attempting to go anywhere near him. She smiled as she took her seat opposite him but the smile soon faded away when she felt the atmosphere go cold around her. She felt goose bumps form on her arms. She somehow regained her smile when she noticed a smirk full of arrogance on his face.

He was the most attractive boy she had ever seen, his beauty almost painful. Lavish, ash blonde hair was styled in a sexy yet messy sort of fashion, strands of them concealing his eyes which were probably just as astoundingly gorgeous as himself. His face was boyish and handsome, chiseled and smoothed out with flawlessly pale skin. He was dressed from head to toe in expensive-looking clothes, long legs clad in designer jeans, and a t-shirt exposing the hints of an iris flower poking underneath his black leather jacket. The way he poised himself upright on the bar stool and the bad-boy, player smirk reminded the girl of a lazy cat, which somehow added to his looks.

Strangely enough, he seemed too young to be in the bar, probably about sixteen or seventeen, but the girl wasn't one to complain. She herself wasn't twenty one either, just eighteen. _Iris_ honestly needed to get better security guards.

"Hello," she purred in a sultry voice, readjusting her tube top and miniskirt. "I'm Liz. You?"

He continued to smirk as he responded. "Myth."

His voice sent shivers of pleasure down Liz's spine. It was sexy and velvety, almost inhumanely musical. Stammering slightly, she managed to comment, "That's a unique name."

Myth chuckled, his slightly playful tone coming on again. "I'll take that as a compliment." his eyes ravished Liz up and down, taking in her body. Feeling proud, Liz opened her legs and exposed more cleavage than she intended to. Yet, Myth's gaze lingered on one spot.

Her neck.

Suddenly, Liz found herself being attacked by Myth, his cool arms snaking around her waist and sending shivers down her skin. Strangely enough, Myth only seemed to go for her neck, tracing his cold canines up and down the flesh of her throat. She moaned discreetly in pleasure.

"Oh my god, I love this." she groaned. Myth snickered against her throat, looking up to finally meet her eyes.

Liz screamed.

His eyes, unlike a human's, flashed a glowing silver, his pupils slit like a cat's. Incisors made themselves visible underneath the protection of his full, kissable lips, glowing underneath the disco lights. Yet, her scream was drowned by the whoops of drunkards that flaunted themselves around, dancing to the beat. Now that she took a closer look, everyone here seemed to be a little off. Their steps were fluid, more graceful than a human's should be. All of them were astonishingly beautiful, like vogue models, and from time to time, Liz swore she saw their eyes flash silver just like Myth's own.

"What are you?" the green-eyed human trembled in his steel arms, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Myth chuckled, dipping his head. He flicked his tongue over Liz's neck once more, and Liz couldn't help but beg for more, despite the situation.

"Your nightmare." Myth whispered before sinking his fangs into the luxuries of a crimson abyss.

* * *

Myth dumped the lifeless body he had sucked dry in a nearby dumpster, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. His ever-changing eyes gleamed, and the silver slowly dissipated, leaving only a tranquil golden color left.

"A snack this early? You're gonna get fat." a voice stated coolly, the owner sheathed completely in pitch-black darkness.

Myth smirked and jumped down from his spot on the dumpster, coming face to face with another boy who looked to be the same age as him. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and remarked arrogantly, "No way in hell this baby—" he pointed to his sculpted, slender body, "—is ever getting _fat_." he said the word with disgust.

"Keep telling yourself that." the newcomer stepped into the light. Like Myth, he was irresistible in every way from head to toe. Jet-black hair badly in need of a cut clung to the sides of his neck, bangs flopping over his piercing eyes, which were the color of hardened sage. Lips twisted into a crescent half-smirk, pale hands stuffed into the pockets of his motocross jeans, he managed to pull off the celebrity look even when dressed in casualties.

Myth yawned, flashing his fangs. "Mm'kay, cut the crap. Now, why're you really here?"

The black-haired teen laughed. It was a forbidden, dangerous laugh, like the Devil laughing for the first time.

Myth snorted.

"You have a psychotic laugh, ya know that, Vince?"

"Hmm." Vince's smirk grew. It was strangely mad and insane as he spoke again, not missing a single beat.

"Storm wants us. He's got a new play toy."

Myth's expression grew dangerous once more. A playful gleam sparkled to life in his eyes.

"Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?"

* * *

Layla stared at the sky, finding nothing but fog. Chills crawled up her spine, similar to the paranoia of insects rising onto a sickly pallor. She suddenly had no place to go. Nowhere to run. And no where to hide.

She cursed herself. _Stupid, stupid Layla! What's wrong with you? Why the hell did you just walk into an alley probably full of gang members?_

She pressed her back against the cold, cement wall, feeling iciness seep through her clothes and tingle into her skin like a sponge. Her body felt numb as she sank to the floor, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest, blood running cold. Despite the situation, she felt thrill, the feeling of being endangered and at risk of being killed. And somehow, that was enough for her to make her feel better: her heart thudding, blood rushing, excitement coursing through her entire body in large waves . . .

"It's simple."

Layla froze as she heard a voice speak, not so far away from her. Her head snapped up and her trained eyes swept through the darkness, her pupils dilating. She crawled to the side of the building she leaned against, peering at the figures that loomed in the shadows underneath her hair. The voice she heard still rang in her head; velvety, smooth, and inhumane.

"You run, I chase. You get caught, you die. You get outta this alley alive, well, you're free. I'm feeling nice so I'll give you a head-start, mm'kay?"

Layla stared at the figures. One was undeniably human, dressed in sagging jeans and a tattered t-shirt with graffiti sprayed over it. He was average in height and utterly plain, dark-skinned, and skinny, his thick dreadlocks hanging from his head messily. His dark eyes were filled with uncertainty and fear as he stared at the male in front of him.

Now the boy—for he couldn't be any older than sixteen—was a different story. He was slender and lean-muscled, wearing dark-washed jeans and a superdry jacket. Thick, heavy lace-up boots that looked good for traveling were buckled to his legs. And he was undeniably gorgeous. Tall, fiery-haired and fierce . . . and extremely dangerous with a sharp, fine-boned face. Brilliant red hair hung in his eyes, which were a stormy, blue-gray, flashing like lightning from time to time.

"And if I get out, I'm free?" there was hope in the human's voice.

"Yep." the redhead smirked. "Good luck. You're gonna need it."

Layla's heart skipped a beat, followed by a wave of nausea. Exactly what had she stumbled across? What the hell was this sick, twisted game these two gangsters were playing?

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't start without us, dammit!" a lazy voice called out from the darkness. Right. Behind. Layla.

"It took you long enough." the redhead's voice was irritated.

Layla froze. Someone . . . no, something . . . breathed down her neck, sending goosebumps down her flesh.

_Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit shitshitshitshitshit!_

"Well, well . . . what do we have here?"

* * *

**A/N: My first Night World fanfic . . . . dunno. In case you didn't notice, the OOC's are actually somewhat related to the actual Night Worlders.**


	2. Chapter 2

_(Chapter One)_

**Fire**

* * *

Vincent grabbed the girl by her throat before she could process anything else, one hand clamping over her mouth while the other pinned her arms behind. He pressed her against the cold cement wall, carefully concealing their bodies in the darkness.

He was too experienced to let any human get away after witnessing their _hunt_.

"Mmff!" The girl's muffled cries were like music to his ears. He smiled, dipping his head into the crook of her neck. Soft flesh, blood pumping behind that small, delicate coat of skin...

His lips began turning red in hunger. His fangs ached, begging to sink into her skin.

"_Goddamn_," he breathed, making her shiver. "You smell _so fucking good_ right now..."

And it was true. She had an exquisite scent, mouthwateringly delicious and delectable at the same time. She smelled like a blend of vanilla, strawberry, and citrus, refreshing like rain-washed flowers though leaving a bittersweet aftertaste.

He had _never_ smelled anything quite as potent as her.

He ran his lips against her neck, enjoying the feel of her shiver and tremble and get weak knees. It was strange, really, how she turned him on so easily. A part of him wondered exactly why she drew him in like a siren, why her blood called out to him Nike nothing else. What he meant was that she was a mere _child_... Her body wasn't even fully developed yet.

"Do you want this?" He breathed, licking her neck. _Tell me you want this. _His green eyes glowed, changing, morphing into a glowing silver. They glittered in the darkness.

"_No_!" Her scream stunned him. He ripped away from her, eyes wide at her outburst. "_Get away from me, you filthy, bloody monster_!"

With that said, Layla took the chance to break out of his grasp and spin around, effectively catching her captor by surprise. Without any other word, she brought up her knee and slammed the heel of her boots onto his crotch.

_Bang_!

A grunt rose from Vincent's chest. He fell to the floor, treasuring his family jewels with tender touches. Anger flared inside of him like a volcano. _How dare she? How dare that vermin have the nerve to kick his balls_?

"_Bitch," _he growled.

But the girl had already left, leaving Vincent in her icy dust. The vampire cursed.

"Dammit."

* * *

_Run._

She fled through the network of flooded alleyways, refusing to stop and catch her breath or even dare to hesitate when she reached an intersection. Broken glass and sharp stones tore the flesh of her numb feet, and each step she took left behind a bloody footprint which was soon washed away by the drizzle of rain from overhead.

But she took no notice of this; the only thing on her mind at that moment was escape.

She could hear him behind her; his footsteps thundering down on the stone pathway and soft, violent threats echoing off the surrounding buildings as he gave chase. She looked behind her to see how much ground there was left between him and shrieked as the movement interrupted her momentum and threw her off balance. She lost her footing and slipped, landing sprawled in the centre of the alley, trembling with both fear and exhaustion.

Everything hurt; the leaden muscles in her legs ached, the palms of her hands stung from the grazes she'd received when trying to break her fall, and each rattling gasp for air brought a stabbing pain through her heaving chest. She wanted to lie there and cry over the things she had seen today, over all the misfortune she had had to endure in her short life, but instinct took hold. She couldn't remain where she was. She had to keep running.

_Run or die..._

The voice spoke in her head in a rather sinister manner. Layla gasped for air, her heart pounding harshly. _Run or die..._

Small frame shaking with exhaustion, she got to her hands and knees—and shrieked as a foot smashed into the small of her back and slammed her back to the stone pavement in an area obscured completely by shadows.

Fingers raked across her scalp and she cried out as her captor seized her by the hair and dragged her to her knees.

"Where do you think you're going?" whispered a cold, quiet, male voice in her ear. His breath blew cold against her skin and sent chills down her spine. It wasn't the green-eyed predator's voice, she knew that for sure. This voice was more velvety and musical, twined with darkness and strange, symphonic notes that drew her in like an incubus's call.

She shivered, unsure if the cold she now felt came from the winter gales that plastered her wet clothes to her body, or if it came from the fear that froze her heart.

Lips trembling, she responded with a thin whimper, too afraid to say a word.

"I asked you a question, sweetheart, and I expect an answer." She finally looked at the owner of the voice, her expression frightened. Strange silver eyes deplored at her, filled with an ominous glow.

She bit hard on her lower lip to stop herself from crying out in pain at the tight grip he had on her hair. Yet, tears of betrayal misted at the corners of her kaleidoscopic eyes, threatening to pour out like a stream. But Layla was top strong for that.

No, she wouldn't let him have the satisfaction of watching her cry. It would be the same as handing out his victory on a silver platter with a slice of lemon to go with it.

"You really pissed Vince off back there. I praise you for that." The ashen-haired incubus chuckled darkly, his suave voice like melting silver and honey. "But you saw Storm with the pathetic human. You know too much." He let out a low, bitter chuckle; a hollow sound, devoid of true expression, and, to her surprise, released his grip.

The action confused her for a brief instant. Was he giving her a chance to escape? Automatically, she got to her feet and started to run, but she didn't even manage to get a full step in before her assailant seized her necklace and pulled, choking her with it as he reeled her back in.

She gasped as he let go of the chain, and massaged her bruised throat, eying her assailant warily.

He paused, looking down to acknowledge her for the first time. In his eyes, she saw nothing; no regret, no hatred, just emptiness and sadism. A complete and utter monster.

"I want to watch you cry." His smile was unnerving. "I want you to beg and plead. I want you to scream, scream in both pain and pleasure as I drink you dry. You'll grovel for love, for help that will never come."

He came closer, his face just inches from her. Layla said nothing, yet stared into the void of his glassy orbs.

She wouldn't give in. She wouldn't give up. She would never let a killer have the better of her, no matter how hopeless the situation may be. She got herself into this mess, and she wouldn't stop until she got out alive.

He watched her for a moment, looking almost sympathetic but the emotion was short-lived. He seized her roughly by the arm and threw her bodily to the ground.

The metallic taste of her own blood nauseated her. Subconsciously, she raised her hand and touched her head, feeling warm liquid trickle down her cheek. The pain hadn't hit her yet, but a migraine was coming along. Her peripheral vision grew blurry and spots dotted her eyes.

Fear piqued her for the first time. He would kill her. She wasn't invincible. Goosebumps trailed down her skin as dark thrill scurried down her spine.

She looked up at the murderer in front of her and pleaded desperately, "Don't do this, please… I beg you, don't—don't kill me…"

Myth crouched so that they were face to face, a shadow of regret flitting across his features. He patted her cheek fondly and for a moment she thought that he would spare her. Then he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "Don't even bother to scream."

Layla didn't exactly understand what people meant when they said they saw red, but for an instant, she saw exactly that. Fury built in her chest like a volcano waiting to erupt, and her anger crescendoed to the highest peak.

"No," she said, surprising them both. Myth stopped in his tracks, hiding his fangs before they could come out. Curious, he tilted his blonde head to the side, wondering.

"What?" He asked disbelievingly. He couldn't believe his ears.

"No," Layla repeated, stunning herself at how calm and firm her voice sounded. It didn't sound like the shaking voice of someone who was about to die—it was strong, fearless and courageous, something she wasn't. "You won't kill me."

Myth laughed at that. Layla swallowed the lump in her throat, wondering how one's laugh could sound so maddening. After his fit, he shook his flawless hair out and turned to Layla with a lazy grin.

"Girly, I've killed more people than you can count. Humans, vampires, shapeshifters, werewolves, witches... And you're just another one to add to my invisible list." He waved his arm in the air. "Wonder which number you'll be."

Layla was sickened by the fact that this... Beast had the potential and inhumanity to murder so many people... And things. A part of her wondered in he was insane, spouting nonsense about the other mythical creatures, but it was completely covered by the irrational part.

"You're so sick." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Why would you do that? How can you not feel remorse for what you do?"

"Don't even try to lecture me!" Myth sneered, eyes narrowing. The silver slowly bled out, leaving him with shocking, angry red irises. Layla stared in awe while Myth continued, "I can't go against my nature. I may be a monster, but that's only in your terms. In this world... There's only two options—kill or be killed. Hunt or be the hunted. Be the predator or the prey. I chose the foremost options." He smiled sardonically at Layla's expression. "Don't look so sickened, human. Your people kill just as mine do—except you have slaughterhouses for it."

"I'm not an animal," Layla managed to say.

"Compared to me, you are nothing more than cattle." Myth purred with a sadistic smirk. "And we all know what you humans do to cattle." to emphasize, he brought his index finger to his throat and slicked his nail across, feigning a hissing sound.

"Myth, stop," an all-too familiar voice ordered. Myth pouted, his lips jutting out like a child who was just caught stealing the last cookie from the jar. It amazed Layla how someone so lethal could look so innocent and adorable when knocked in an innocent gesture.

"Don't ruin my fun, killjoy! 'Sides, you let her escape. She's mine now!" Myth stomped his foot on the ground as if he were throwing a tantrum. The ground rattled and a small crater formed from the impact. Layla winced, narrowly avoiding the splints that went flying in the air by ducking her head.

Vincent narrowed his green eyes, diverting his gaze to Layla who cringed away from the both off them. He smiled predatorily.

"You're going to regret what you did." his voice was soft yet held the promise of a cold-blooded killer. Layla knew she was in deep shit then.

Awkwardly, she burst, "What is wrong with the both of you?!" Her voice was high-pitched, a shrill note that caused the two lamia in front of her to glare in her direction. "Just what the _hell_ are you two? Monsters? _Demons_?" Her eyes blazed with fury. "Why do you even _exist_? What the hell are you _doing_ here? Why are you trying to _kill_ me?" she inhaled sharply. "Are you two insane escapees from a psych ward or am I just a helpless pushover?"

The last question drew out amused looks.

"You're a pushover." Myth chuckled.

"Pushover, indeed," Vincent agreed, enjoying the flustered look that came over the young girl's face.

"What are you?" Layla repeating, sounding quizzical and bewildered. Her eyes were glazed, glassy in confusion as she tried to piece together the clues with scientific logic. Nothing came up. Well, unless they were some failed experiments the government created in a top-secret laboratory, she had nothing.

... That probably wasn't right.

"She's no fun anymore. Lets kill her." Myth stated, yawning. Layla sought a glimpse of his incisors. "You were more entertaining when you were groveling on your feet. In fact, let's do that again. I happen to quite enjoy seeing you in pain."

Vincent rolled his eyes.

_Sadistic bastard_, Layla thought while gritting her teeth. Myth glowered at her. _Did I say that outloud_?

"Yeah, you did." Vincent stated dryly. Myth made a face.

"Less chit chat, more slaughter!" He pumped his fist up in the air.

Layla stared at him.

"Are you insane? Or just a happy-go-lucky sadist?" She questioned.

"He's the latter." Vincent smiled manically.

"Yeah. And this one's the former." Myth jabbed a thumb at Vincent.

The two vampires glowered at each other. Layla swallowed, beginning to get on her feet. She slowly inched away from the glaring boys as they started throwing insults at each other, careful with each step she took. She couldn't risk getting caught...

One step...

Two steps...

Three steps...

_RUN-_

_Smack._

"OW!" Layla screamed, looking up. Her face went pale. "Dammit, not another psych ward escapee!" She groaned, staring into the eyes of a fiery-haired male.

He looked less than happy. Fine-boned and thin-structured, he reminded Layla of a sword. As of right now, his face was upturned into a scowl.

"And just who the hell are you?" He demanded, shoving her arms behind her back. Layla winced.

"..."

"You must be from one those idiotic witch circles. Black Dahlia? Nightshade? Harman?" He paused. "Of course you're not a Harman. They aren't stupid enough to run into me."

"What the hECM ar you talking about?" Layla sputtered. "Let me go!"

"No can do, sweetie. I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you-"

_SLAM_.

"_Mother fucker!_"

Layla once again sprinted for her life.

"_Dammit, where the hell did that weirdo go_?"

"_Sneaky little brat... Trying to run away_."

"_Whoa, Storm! What the hell happened to your dick_?"

"_This bitch kicked me and ran away! Who the hell was that_?!"

"... _Who knows_?"

Layla would never agbackground back there. But something spiked her interest.

She touched the place where Myth's fingers had nearly ripped out her hair. Then the place where Vincent's breath fanned her neck. And finally to the spot on her arms where the red-haired one had grasped her.

They all tingled with fire.


End file.
